


Reluctant Comfort

by Cosy_Little_Crow



Series: Reluctanceverse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Caregiving, Emetophilia, Enemies to Friends, Fever, Flu, Gen, M/M, Sickfic, Sickness, Vomit, Whump, emeto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2020-12-12 03:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20970401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosy_Little_Crow/pseuds/Cosy_Little_Crow
Summary: Draco’s feeling miserable but tries to handle it on his own. Harry has a bit of a savior complex and can’t resist helping his former school nemesis. Draco feels vulnerable and weak, but he eventually gives in to the comfort Harry’s offering. UPDATED! Draco’s POV added.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt (by sicklylittlesnowflake): no one ever took care of me in the past and I'm super defensive and I yelled at you for trying to look after me because this is really confusing and I'm feverish and now you're upset and I'm so sorry
> 
> TW: graphic vomit scene

It wasn’t that Harry wanted to be sat here comforting his former nemesis, and certainly not when he was acting like such a stuck up, spoiled, little prat. But when he’d seen Draco stumbling out of the Yule Ball they were both meant to be chaperoning, looking like death incarnate, he found he hadn’t much choice in the matter. 

Harry took a few quick steps to catch up with the man who had just turned down another corridor. When he rounded the corner, Draco was leaning against the wall. One hand was pressed to his belly, and the other was covering his mouth. His sleeve had slid down his arm enough that a sliver of the mark was visible. 

“Malfoy? Are you alright?” Harry forced his tone to be softer than usual. He didn’t like the other man, but he didn’t want to be nasty when he was clearly feeling ill.

Their eyes met and Draco’s went wide, then narrowed in an angry scowl. He let his hands drop to his sides and straightened defiantly. This didn’t help his stomach, however and Harry watched him swallow rapidly, fists clenched. 

“What do you care, Potter?” His voice sounded raw, as though he had been coughing. He stopped then to try and regulate his breathing, staving off a cough and swallow again. Draco was deathly pale, more-so than usual. 

“Are you sure? You look ill.” Harry cast a wordless charm, summoning a garbage bin from a nearby classroom. Draco was so focused on not throwing up that he didn’t even notice. 

“I’m fi-“ he started with irritation, but suddenly pressed a hand tightly to his mouth, eyes scanning wildly for a lavatory. He was about to rush off when Harry stepped up with the bin and pulled them both into the empty classroom just in time. 

Draco hadn’t moved his hand quickly enough and vomit sprayed out from the sides and between his fingers, splattering his dress robes, Harry’s arm, and the floor of the classroom with droplets of sick. Harry grimaced, but used his hand not holding the bucket to pull his hand back from where it was again pressed to his mouth as another wave of sick gushed from his mouth and nose. 

Draco whimpered and choked as Harry eased them into a sitting position, Harry pressed behind Draco to support him as he coughed and spluttered trying to get a few ragged breaths. Through their dress robes, Harry could feel the heat radiating off the other man. How had he made it through the day and half the party while this ill, he wondered? He was a potions master. How had he not treated this sooner?

As wave after wave of sick rose up into his throat to be expelled into the bucket in sick splashes, Draco began to sob. Tears and snot and vomit ran together, dripping off his chin into the bin as he struggled to properly breathe. Harry should be disgusted, but he wasn’t. He just wanted to help even more. 

“Shh, shh. You need to try and calm down. You’re only making it worse like this.” Harry said urging Draco to relax.

Draco shifted away, turning to look at Harry over his shoulder, snot and vomit being flung from his chin with the force of the movement. His glassy eyes were suddenly sharp and dark. 

“Don’t you think I know that, Potter?”He spat hoarsely, no longer sobbing. 

“I don’t need bleeding Harry Potter, boy-who-lived-twice, savior of the wizarding world, sitting here coddling me! In fact, I don’t need you here at all. So just leave me the hell alone!” Draco was panting hard by the time he finished, and he abruptly turned back to his bin to retch. 

Harry was fuming, but he didn’t leave. He could see the other professor shaking almost violently and knew that he was going to pass out soon if nothing changed. Draco was mostly empty now, but his stomach occasionally convulsed, making him heave dryly. His face was red, speckled with tiny burst blood vessels under the skin, and his eyes were bloodshot by the time he was through.

When he collapsed back against Harry’s chest, Harry vanished the sick and cast a few cleaning charms. He still summoned a flannel and two basins of water though. He started with the warm one, wiping down Draco’s face, neck, hands, and forearms. Then he let the cloth sit in the cool water before wringing it out well and placing it across the man’s forehead to help with the fever. 

“I thought I told you to leave?” Draco asked, voice rough and glassy eyes heavily lidded. 

“You did. Now, think you can stand with my help?” Harry smiled brightly, ignoring the weak scowl the man threw his way. 

“I can stand without your help, thanks.” Draco pulled himself up onto his feet and made it two steps out the door before Harry had to catch him with a spell to keep Draco from cracking his knees on the hard stone floor. 

“Still think you don’t need my help, Malfoy?” Harry sneered, coming up to put an arm around him. 

“Oh bugger off, would you.” Draco tried to shout, but it came out strangled and weak.

“Sorry. But it really is okay to ask for help now and again, you know.” He said when Draco flinched away from the touch. 

“Let me help, Draco?” Harry grimaced slightly at the use of the man’s first name. 

It felt foreign in his mouth, but the potions professor seemed to get some satisfaction from his struggles. Draco laughed weakly and allowed Harry to snake an arm under his and around his back, holding him up at the waist. 

They made their way to Draco’s rooms in silence. Every so often, they had to stop for Draco to retch, or catch his breath. Once, they had to sit down right in the corridor, but Harry just pulled the other man against him and let him rest. When they got there, Draco muttered the password and released the secondary wards to allow them both inside. 

Harry immediately sat Draco down into an overstuffed armchair and began flitting around, gathering things. Draco was visibly irritated, but too tired to protest just then. Harry pulled back the covers in the bed and gathered pillows to prop him up. 

He rummaged through the wardrobe for something Draco could sleep comfortably in. Most of his sleepwear was silk or heavy flannel, so Harry summoned a pair of his own pajamas. Well worn gray cotton. They were old, and a bit big for Draco, but light and incredibly soft. 

When he comes back into the small lounge, Draco is mostly asleep. Harry doesn’t really want to wake him, but he needs to know where a few potions are. “Draco? Hey, wake up a sec.” 

Harry waits for those gray eyes to focus on him before continuing. “Where would your medicinal potions be? I need a drowsiness draught, pepperup potion, fever tonic, and an anti-emesis potion.”

“In the potions storage, bottom shelf. But I don’t need all that. Just... help me to bed and sod off.” He scowled, but his words held no malice. 

It was obvious Draco was uncomfortable being helped like this. Harry had been, too, at first. After so many years of coping on his own, when he had the Weasleys and Hermione fussing over him whenever he was sick or injured, it was uncomfortable and overwhelming. From what Harry knew of Draco’s family, any comforting likely stopped by the time he was 5 or 6. 

Harry went through and gathered the potions. He snagged an extra pepperup to leave for Draco in the morning and headed back. The wards parted for him, and he realized that the man hadn’t dismissed the wards entirely. Instead, he’d allowed them to recognize Harry. He set everything down on the bedside table and went to fetch Draco. 

“Draco, I’m going to bring you to bed. That alright?” Harry asked softly. Draco nodded sleepily and sniffled. When Harry’s arms slid under his knees and behind his back, Draco let out a rather undignified squeak and threw his arms around Harry’s shoulders, all the while fussing weakly. 

“What the bloody hell are you doing, Potter? Unhand me at once! Use a spell, you absolute twit, not your arms. We get it, you’re the savior. No need to go showing off. I’m not a damsel in distress.” All the while he was very careful not to move or squirm. Harry thought he might be afraid of being dropped. 

Harry settled Draco on the edge of the bed and knelt down in front of him, immediately beginning to undress him, starting with his shoes. Draco flushed, ears to chest.

“What the fuck are you doing? I can undress on my own!” Draco protested, but moved his arms to accommodate Harry when he began undoing the dozens of tiny buttons on the man’s dress robes. 

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before. We played quidditch together, remember? Why does this thing have so many buttons?” Harry said, deft fingers still focused on the buttons. 

“Just be quick about it, would you?” Draco was trying to sound irritated, but it just came out sounding exhausted. 

Harry moved quickly then, pushing the robes off his shoulders after finally getting the damned things open. He removed the neck piece and quickly unbuttoned his shirt. Draco was shivering by the time Harry got to his belt and trousers, so Harry decided to put the pajama top on him.  
Draco insisted on buttoning it himself. When his trousers were undone, Draco let Harry tug them down, face aflame, but he insisted on putting the pajama bottoms on himself. By now, Draco was so out of it that he hadn’t even noticed the set wasn’t his. 

Harry tucked him into bed and gave him each potion slowly, separated by a sip of juice, which he’d summoned along with another glass and a pitcher of ice water. Draco pulled a face at each potion, but was too tired to actually protest. By the time he was done the other three, Harry decided Draco didn’t need the drowsiness draught. 

He tucked Draco in and made sure the fire had enough wood to keep the room comfortable. As he turned to leave, he heard a small sound from the bed and came back to check. He ran his hand through Draco’s long hair, smoothing it back from his already cooling forehead. Gray eyes blinked open briefly. 

“Thanks... Harry.” That was all he could manage before turning away red-faced. 

Harry left then, darkening the room so that the only light was a soft orange glow from the fireplace. 

He had planned to leave, but he thought that a note should be left so Draco would take the pepperup the next morning. When that was done, Harry tidied up the small lounge. Then remembered they were supposed to be chaperoning and scrawled a messy letter to McGonagall. After that, he heard Draco stir. 

Harry gave him a second fever tonic and the drowsiness draught then. He sat for a bit switching out cool dam flannels across the blond professor’s forehead. By the time the fever had gone back down it was past one in the morning. 

Harry settled into the big armchair and found that it reclined. He summoned a blanket from the couch and a book from the shelf and there he sat. He read for quite a while, occasionally getting up to check on the other man. By four in the morning though, Harry had fallen asleep, book still in hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco had been so busy with end of term grading and preparing for the Yule Ball that he hadn’t realized he was feeling unwell again until he’d arrived at the Ball to chaperone. Since Azkaban, he had been getting fevers, nausea, coughing, chills, and aches quite often. He’d meant to grab something for the fever he felt creeping up again, but then two fifth year slytherin students had to be shooed apart every few minutes to keep them from snogging each other silly. At one point he thought they might start going at it then and there. 

Fed up and starting to feel a bit queasy, he’d finally had to resort to the deduction of house points. Draco spent another half hour sipping a nonalcoholic ginger beer and trying to avoid talking to the other professors. He’d just managed to avoid Lovegood when his stomach gave a sudden lurch and his head began to pound. 

The blond professor slipped from the party and down a random corridor to collect himself. It would only be a few more hours. He could manage that. He’d survived much worse before, particularly right after the war. Azkaban had not been kind to him. 

He leaned back against the cool stone of the wall and took a deep breath that he immediately regretted. His lungs drew in the mucous draining down his throat and he was thrown into a violent coughing fit. He’d been there for what seemed like eons before the coughing subsided. 

He pressed a hand to his sore stomach muscles, massaging gently. This was also a mistake, as it caused him to burp wetly, mouth suddenly tasting of sick. His other hand came up to his mouth instinctively. 

He was just about to head off to find something for the fever, all over aches, and nausea when he showed up. 

“Malfoy? Are you alright?” Harry Potter, Savior of the wizarding world, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, and eternal pain in Draco’s arse was standing a couple feet away in cheap dress robes looking concerned. 

Draco forced himself to straighten, ignoring the way his head swam and his stomach churned. They made eye contact again and Draco cursed himself for being caught like this by the man, again. Weak and vulnerable. His cheeks heated and his anger began to flare. Unfortunately, so did his nausea and he had to swallow rapidly to clear the warm bitter liquid from his throat. 

“What do you care, Potter?” He winced at the way his voice sounded, hoarse from coughing and vomiting. The vibrations nearly sent him into a coughing fit he knew his stomach wouldn’t be able to handle and he had to focus on just breathing and swallowing. 

Vaguely, he heard Harry ask again if he was okay, but he was still struggling too much to respond. A few more deep breaths and he was able to glare at the man. He started to reply, but stopped and clamped his hand over his mouth, suddenly hit with the horrifying realization that he was about to vomit. Right there in the corridor.

He was panicking, trying to decide which toilets were closest when Harry stepped up to him holding a trash bin and pulled him into a classroom. The movement made his stomach lurch violently and he couldn’t stop the heave that followed. With his hand still clamped over his mouth, vomit sprayed all over the floor, himself, and even Harry. Draco was mortified. 

Cool fingers wrapped around his wrist and gently pulled it away from his mouth as he retched, another wave of hot liquid gushing out of his mouth and nose as he continued to try and fight it back. Draco heard himself whimper as he choked on more sick while Harry pulled them down to sit on the floor, but he was beyond caring for the moment. 

He coughed and choked on more bitter bile and acid as he allowed Harry to position them so that he was pressed against the man’s chest. He’d never admit it, but he was thankful for the warmth and support. His body was beginning to feel like jelly. 

When he’d been sick for what felt like the twentieth time in as many minutes, Draco began to sob. Like the retching, he couldn’t seem to stop it. Every part of him ached. He was freezing. He couldn’t get in a proper breath. Behind him, Harry spoke, bringing him back to reality. 

“Shh, Shh. You need to calm down. You’re only making it worse this way.” Draco was livid. He turned rapidly from his place between Harry’s legs to glare over his shoulder at the other professor, uncaring that he was getting snot and vomit on the other man. 

“Don’t you think I know that, Potter?” He spat, suddenly not feeling sick anymore, just angry. “I don’t need bleeding Harry Potter, boy-who-lived-twice, savior of the wizarding world, sitting here coddling me! In fact, I don’t need you here at all. So just leave me the hell alone!” 

Draco was panting hard by the time he finished, and he had to turn back to his bin to retch. For quite a while, his stomach convulsed. He moaned in discomfort as the contractions in his abdomen forced him to gag over and over. 

Finally, he was able to pull back, collapsing against Harry with his eyes closed to catch his breath. He felt the tickle of cleaning charms, then the warmth of a damp flannel over every place that had been splattered with snot or vomit. It wasn’t until Harry put a cool flannel on his forehead that he began to grow impatient.

“I thought I told you to leave?” Draco asked, voice rough and glassy eyes heavily lidded. 

“You did. Now, think you can stand with my help?” Draco tried to glare at him, but Harry just smiled this off-putting little know-it-all grin. 

“I can stand without your help, thanks.” Draco said, pulling himself up onto his feet and made it about two steps out the door before his vision was darkening at the edges and his legs gave out under him. His eyes squeezed shut bracing for the crack of the hard stone floor against his elbows and knees, but it never came. He cracked an eye and found that Harry had caught him with a spell, looking smug. 

“Still think you don’t need my help, Malfoy?” Harry sneered and moved up to help him properly. Draco stiffened.

“Oh bugger off, would you.” Draco tried for something angry, but it came out strangled and weak. How humiliating. He flinched away when Harry’s hand reached for him again.

“Sorry. But it really is okay to ask for help now and again, you know.” Harry was looking a him strangely. It was almost friendly, almost soft. He was actually sorry! Draco felt his tired body relax in spite of his discomfort with the idea of the man coming to his rescue. Again.

“Let me help, Draco?” Harry grimaced, looking incredibly uncomfortable and sounding awkward. Draco smirked. That was better. If Harry was uncomfortable too, then it was okay. He laughed weakly but allowed Harry to snake an arm under his and around his back, holding him up at the waist. 

They made their way to Draco’s rooms in silence. Every so often, they had to stop for Draco to retch, or catch his breath. He felt humiliated every time, but thankfully, Harry didn’t try to make him feel better. Once, they had to sit down right in the corridor, but Harry just pulled him back against his chest roughly, but staying blessedly silent while Draco caught his breath. 

When they got there, Draco muttered the password and released the secondary wards to allow them both inside. He allowed his magic to snake out, pulling some of Harry’s into the wards to allow him to enter whenever he wanted. He would change it later. 

Harry immediately sat Draco down into an overstuffed armchair and began flitting around, gathering things. Draco was ready to stop him, but he couldn’t find the strength. He could feel himself shivering and just wanted to crawl into the bed he could hear Harry messing with. 

“Draco? Hey, wake up a sec.” Draco blinks awake slowly, body heavy and head fuzzy. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to focus on what Harry is saying.

Harry waits patiently for those gray eyes to focus on him before continuing. “Where would your medicinal potions be? I need a drowsiness draught, pepperup potion, fever tonic, and an anti-emesis potion.” His voice is soft, and Draco’s pounding head is thankful.

“In the potions storage, bottom shelf. But I don’t need all that. Just... help me to bed and sod off.” He scowled, but he knew it was just a weak attempt to disturb the uncomfortable truce, both unused to the intimacy of the situation. A wholly unconvincing one at that.

Draco was unused to such coddling in general. His Father had only ever taken care of him when he was ill once. He was barely old enough to remember, but he could still recall his father, slightly panicked, holding him bare chested in the bath. And he was barely seven when his mother stopped taking care of him this way, coddling, kissing. So to have someone take care of him now left Draco feeling like an infant. 

Harry came in with an armful of potions and disappeared behind him for a second before coming back empty handed. “Draco, I’m going to bring you to bed. That alright?” Harry asked softly. 

Draco felt himself nod, barely awake. When Harry’s arms slid under his knees and behind his back, Draco let out a rather undignified squeak and threw his arms around Harry’s shoulders, all the while fussing at him. He was expecting the spell from earlier, so the the contact was something he was wholly unprepared for. And the lack of control had Draco suddenly anxious. 

“What the bloody hell are you doing, Potter? Unhand me at once! Use a spell, you absolute twit, not your arms. We get it, you’re the savior. No need to go showing off. I’m not a damsel in distress.” He rasped, still clinging tightly to the other professor like an idiot. 

Harry settled Draco on the edge of the bed and knelt down in front of him, immediately beginning to undress him, starting with his shoes. Draco felt his body heat from embarrassment, face, ears, and even chest. This was too far. He wasn’t a complete invalid! But he couldn’t really bring himself do anything about it. 

“What the fuck are you doing? I can undress on my own!” Draco protested, but he relaxed, even moved his arms to accommodate Harry when he began undoing the dozens of tiny buttons on the man’s dress robes. He told himself it was because he liked how frustrated Harry was over the amount of little buttons. 

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before. We played quidditch together, remember? Why does this thing have so many buttons?” Harry said, deft fingers still focused on the buttons. Draco could barely follow the movements with his eyes by now.

“Just be quick about it, would you?” Draco was trying to sound irritated, but it just came out sounding exhausted. His entire body ached and he shook with the effort it took to hold himself upright. 

Harry must have noticed, because he moved even more quickly then, pushing the robes off his shoulders after just a few more seconds. He removed the neck piece and quickly unbuttoned his shirt. Draco was shivering by the time Harry got to his belt and trousers. He felt like he was half frozen when Harry slid a loose pajama top up his arms and settled it over his shoulders.

Draco insisted on buttoning it himself, though it took forever with how hard he was shaking. Harry didn’t stop him, though. When his trousers were undone, Draco let Harry tug them down, face aflame, but he insisted on pulling the pajama bottoms on himself. It took him far longer than he cared to admit and took all of his strength. He must have the flu. 

Harry tucked him into bed and Draco dutifully took each potion, Swallowing the offered sip of pumpkin juice after each. Embarrassingly, Harry had to prop his head up, tilting each potion and each sip into his mouth.  
As he lay there while Harry flitted around again, he was struck by just what the man was doing for him. He was there with his enemy, someone who had actively fought against him, someone who was still fighting him today, and offered the comfort that he had not been given until he was already fighting a war. He deserved a thank you, Draco decided. 

In spite of his best efforts, Draco couldn’t stop himself from dozing off. He wasn’t sure how long it had been when he felt a cool hand brush against his forehead, pushing back his sweat-stiffened hair. It took everything he had to open his eyes, but it was completely worth it to see the other man completely unguarded. 

“Thanks... Harry.” That was all he could manage before turning away, suddenly feeling very exposed and uncomfortable. 

Harry left then, darkening the room so that the only light was a soft orange glow from the fireplace. 

Draco was vaguely aware of nightmares. He remembered soothing whispers, too many potions, cool flannels. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep when he woke. It wasn’t until he tried to sit up that Draco realized something was very wrong. 

His head was pounding and his body ached. His mouth was suddenly flooded with saliva and he forced himself out of the bed to the attached toilet. He made it into the room, but before he could get to the toilet or even the sink, he was doubled over, heaving violently. 

He staggered over to the toilet, still retching, splattering the lid with vomit. Suddenly it struck him that the color was off. Maroon with streaks of bright red. Blood. He had just vomited blood. Draco was suddenly trembling, utterly panicked. He forced back the urge to cry. 

“Harry!” His tone was surprisingly calm, but his voice was unsteady, losing his battle with tears. 

Harry was still there, thankfully, and he must have recognized that something was very wrong without having even come in, with how hastily he was through the door. His eyes widened, taking in the state of him, and Draco felt a little guilty for not warning him. He was spattered with blood, hands and knees covered, floor and toilet streaked with the bloody looking vomit.

“Oh, Draco...” Harry bent down and scooped him up all at once, not bothering to vanish the mess. Draco clung to him, letting his head rest in the crook of Harry’s shoulder and neck as the professor apparated them both. The smell of ozone from the apparation mixed with disinfectant as mediwitches swarmed around them while Draco clung to Harry, no longer caring what anyone thought, reluctant to let go of the comfort he had so recently been offered.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: vomiting, cancer, blood

Harry awoke to the sounds of retching. Draco must have caught the flu or something. Maybe he should see Madam Pomfrey? He stood, stretching and was about to grab more potions from storage and fetch the witch when Draco called out to him.

“Harry!” Draco’s tone was the same as always, but his voice was strained, and he’d used Harry’s first name. 

Something was wrong. He vaulted over the sofa, rounded the corner, and nearly slipped in the puddle of dark vomit splattered across the floor and streaked with Draco’s footprints. He took the last three steps to the bathroom and stopped in the doorway, shocked by the state of things. 

Draco was on his knees, trembling, in front of the toilet. Bloody vomit covered the white porcelain, dripping onto the tile below. Draco was looking up at him from the floor, lost and frightened. This was worse than the fiendfyre. 

Harry was there beside him, scooping him up from the floor before he even realized he was moving. Draco flinched at the first touch, but as soon as he was firmly in the other man’s arms, Harry felt him wrap arms tightly around his neck, clinging to him. His head fell to Harry’s shoulder and he buried his face in the side of the other professor’s neck. 

Harry didn’t take that as a good sign. He had been intending to take Draco to the infirmary in Hogwarts, but the way he was acting made him panicked. He pulled Draco closer and apparated them both to St. Mungo’s. 

They stood in the middle of a busy waiting area, mediwitches and wizards in gaudy lime robes bustling back and forth. Harry scanned the room, looking for someone who appeared to be in charge. A young witch with strawberry blonde curls was the first to notice them and rushed over, calling out to a group of others, who immediately summoned a gurney. 

Harry couldn’t really make out what was being said. Draco had raised his head from where it rested and Harry could feel his breathing quickening, coming out in short bursts. Draco’s heart hammered in his chest and he let out a small sound. His arms seemed to convulse around Harry then and he let out a hiccuping sob as one of the witches tried to pull his grip free.

Harry had to fight the urge to sweep them both away from the swarm of staff when Draco buried his face in the crook of his neck and sobbed outright, clinging like Harry was the only thing keeping him from drowning. He felt small in Harry’s arms, too thin to be healthy. How had he not noticed? They weren’t friends or anything, but they still worked together. He should have noticed. 

If you had asked him just two days ago how he felt about Draco Malfoy, Harry would have said that he tolerated him because he was an exceptional Potions Professor, but that he would never be able to forgive him for the past. He had done too much and contributed to too much loss. No, he wasn’t truly awful like his father, and in the end, he had never been a true death eater, in spite of the mark he’d taken. But it was still too much. Harry couldn’t just move on and be friends with someone like him. 

But now, Harry would forgive anything to stop the man currently being pried from his arms from looking at him with the huge, terrified grey eyes of a child. Still smeared with blood and completely coming apart, he looked so much like he did all those years ago, being hauled off by Aurors after the battle. Or after Sectumsempra. 

“Harry please!” Draco flailed and reached for him again, crying out.

He didn’t know exactly what the blond was begging for, but he stepped up, pushing through the people trying to hold Draco down. One hand came to Draco’s, lacing their fingers. The other smoothed back blood-streaked blond hair gently encouraging him to relax back against the gurney they had brought out after getting one look at the two of them. 

“Shh, I’m not leaving. I’m here. You’re okay, now lie back and let them help you.” Harry said, voice shaking. 

He’d seen Draco like this only once before. The day Voldemort had been killed, the man had pulled Draco into an obscenely close hug, whispering in his ear. Draco had broken free of the Dark Lord’s arms and run right to Harry. Some of the DA had thrown hexes, and he was screaming in agony at Harry’s feet, but he clung to him, begging refuge. 

Harry had been unable to deny him then, too. His enemy there at his feet, completely broken, at his mercy. The boy he had been obsessing over, fighting against for seven years. It had given him a rush, one he knew he should be worried about. He could have turned Draco away and watched the other side destroy him then and there. He’d enjoy it even. It was what he deserved, Harry thought. 

But then he thought of being in the same position, Draco saying he wasn’t sure this was Harry Potter, helping his rival and everything he was supposed to be against. He couldn’t kill Dumbledore. He didn’t know the necklace would do what it did to Katie Bell. He’d fed Luna and Mr. Ollivander even at the risk of being killed. What would it make him if he gave in to those desires? If he let the power corrupt him? 

Harry was pulled from his thoughts by a sick gurgle. Draco was being checked by a kind-looking witch in uncomfortably green robes when he suddenly choked, bloody vomit spilling from nose and mouth. Harry pulled him upright while the witch hastily cast a series of charms and spells that stopped the vomiting and had Draco clean and sedated in a matter of minutes. 

Harry blushed but sat as close as he could when the witch told him he’d have to let go so they could run some diagnostics. They used spells and conventional muggle blood tests to thoroughly search for the cause of Draco’s sudden illness. Harry just sat, watching the man sleep and wondering again about when he had gotten so thin. 

When they’d put him in a frumpy hospital gown during the tests, Harry noticed deep blue bruises along Draco’s spine and shoulders. Had those been there the night before? Taking his hand again, Harry noticed more bruising around his wrist from when he had pulled Draco’s hand back from his mouth the day before. He couldn’t have been gripping him that tightly. Right?

It wasn’t long before a proper Healer showed up to run a couple of tests and ask Harry a lot of questions. He tried to get out of it at first, they weren’t even friends. He knew almost nothing of Draco’s personal life. But the other wizard insisted that it was urgent, he couldn’t wait for someone else without even asking Harry. Draco was very, very unwell. 

He’d asked usual questions, but Harry had trouble with more than a name, age, and other simple questions like if he’d eaten anything strange or taken any potions recently. Harry told him about the vomiting and the fever and the cough. He told him that the night before it had taken several potions to stop his fever and how he had looked unwell all that week. 

He was about to insist they call Pansy or someone when the wizard asked if Draco had had his magic taken or stifled for any reason. Harry almost said no until he realized that they must have done something to him in Azkaban. That’s why it took Sirius so long to escape after all. He didn’t have his magic all that time.

That seemed to satisfy the man and he left quite hastily. Harry hung around a while longer, but eventually, he decided it was best to let someone at Hogwarts know what was going on. He considered an owl, reluctant to leave Draco after he’d promised to stay with him. But the man likely wouldn’t remember. And he would much prefer one of his friends to Harry. 

That decided, Harry scrawled a messy note for the man, just in case and left it on the little rolling table at the end of the bed. He stepped out into the hall and apparated through the wards once again. He arrived outside the headmaster’s office and took the stairs up two at a time. 

Harry burst in, breathing hard, and he had to bend, hands on knees for a moment while he caught his breath. McGonagall jumped up and spelled a chair up behind him. “Sit down. Good heavens, Mr. Potter! What’s happened?” A glass of pumpkin juice levitated to his left, and Harry downed it before explaining what had gone on. McGonagall agreed to contact others Draco might be close to, but Harry was to accompany him until someone arrived. Pansy Parkinson was his emergency contact, so that was likely who he’d be expecting. 

Harry turned to leave with a quickly muttered “Thanks.” and bolted down the stairs. He stopped off at his quarters to grab a book, pen and quill, blanket, and pajamas for the other professor. He’d also stopped in at Draco’s to grab a few of his clothes, a couple of books that were by the bedside, and make sure they were properly locked and warded. 

When he finally made his way back to Draco’s room, Harry stepped in to find it empty and there was a moment of panic before he learned that the other man had been moved to another ward. The Muggle Illnesses and Afflictions Ward. Harry was confused and concerned if he were being honest. He didn’t think pureblood wizards were susceptible to muggle illnesses. Their magic generally kept them protected, and fewer of them ran in pureblood families. Though Draco had spent some time without the use of his magic, Harry thought that it would have fought off anything. 

He hurried through the corridors and burst in, startling an obviously irritable and confused Draco as he was shouting at one of the Healers. “I told the last one, there’s not a bit of muggle blood in my line. I CAN’T have a Muggle’s disease! You lot MUST have made a mistake and I want a more competent Healer! I- What are you doing here? I thought you’d left. Just as well, Potter, I don’t need you here.” Draco turned on him, looking quite a lot better than he had that morning. 

“Fine with me.” Harry said, turning on his heel and leaving. He didn’t go far, though, choosing to lean against the wall just beside Draco’s room. He had to wait for Pansy, after all. Besides, he wanted to know what the Healer had said to make him so irate. 

“Mister Malfoy, I assure you that the results are accurate. You have Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia, as well as an infection of the bacteria Helicobacter Pylori, which was responsible for your gastric bleed. We’ve got you on a strong antimicrobial drip that should clear up the bacteria in a few days, but I’m afraid there’s not much in the way of magical cures when it comes to muggle forms of cancer. You will need a different type of treatment than we usually provide.” The healer finished, and it took Harry a minute to fully absorb what he’d said. 

Draco had Leukemia. Cancer. Muggle cancer. There was no magical cure. He’d have to go through what ordinary muggles did. And he had some sort of infection that caused all of that blood. Harry began to pace, no longer listening to Draco and the healer as they spoke. Draco had cancer? How had no one noticed? How was there no magical treatment? Did Draco even understand?

Before Harry knew what he was doing he’d walked down the corridor and into a random office with floo access and was stepping out of Hermione and Ron’s sitting room fireplace coughing up soot the next second. He was surprised to find Hermione in a chair by the window, muggle and wizarding medical books floating around her as she flipped through them. His stomach lurched and their eyes met. She took one look at Harry and a random bowl shot down the corridor and into his hands just in time for Harry to vomit spectacularly. 

When he was done, she’d spelled away the mess and pressed a cold glass of water into his shaky hands. Vaguely, he was aware of the kettle being put on to boil as he slumped into a wingback chair facing the corridor leading to the kitchen his friend had disappeared into. She returned a few seconds later and took a seat on the couch to his left. 

“Now, care to tell me what that was about, Harry?” Her hand rested warmly over his where it sat atop his knee. He looked up at her and flushed, suddenly feeling self-conscious over his reaction. Why should he be reacting like this? He didn’t even like the git! So why had the news given him such a shock. 

“Draco has muggle cancer. Some type of Leukemia or something. And an infection with some bacteria, heliocopter something, that made him vomit blood. There was so much of it, ‘Mione.” To his horror, his eyes stung with tears and his voice had sort of gone out in a rasp.

“Harry, you’re SURE the healer said Leukemia?” her voice was steady, calm, but she was looking at Harry with a weirdly soft expression. He nodded. 

”Pansy owled me a few minutes ago, a nearly incomprehendable letter asking me what I knew about muggle cancers, but- that CAN’T be right? His magic would never allow something like that to begin growing as far as I can tell. Unless-” Books began to flutter open again and Harry watched her mutter to herself for a while before they all stacked themselves neatly on the coffee table in front of them. She scrawled a quick reply to Pansy and then she was pulling Harry up from his chair and they were apparating back to St Mungo’s.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s quite a short chapter, but I’ve already got a chunk of the next few worked out. Sorry for the delay!

Draco couldn’t believe the nerve of this hospital. It was obvious that he was ill. He tried not to think of precisely how ill or the faint memories of crying out for Potter before he was sedated. He was sure, though, that he did not have any sort of muggle condition. He was a pure-blood. It just wasn’t possible. 

And this little Hufflepuff healer had the nerve to insist that he had a magic-resistant muggle disease that would require him to undergo muggle medical treatment. Impossible! Draco was so sure that he was still arguing with his healer when Pansy bounced into the room, Potter’s messenger bag on her shoulder. 

“Someone left this for you, Draco. Probably got scared away by all the shouting. Oh, hello Justin. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Pansy chirped, surprising Draco. How did they know each other? She leaned in, kissing Draco’s cheek before dropping the bag in his lap and plopping down in the reclining chair near his bed. 

Both Draco and healer Finch-Fletchley flushed at her intrusion. Draco settled back against his pillows to go through the bag he was handed. Potter must have packed it for him. Clothes, his favorite book, toiletries, soft cotton pajamas that smelled faintly of wood smoke. Draco was so lost in his perusal of the bag’s contents that he didn’t realize Luna had spoken to him until her third try. 

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back soon.” She smiled, a knowing little tilt of lips, and Draco wanted to scream. 

“I should hope not. He’s been nothing but a nuisance since I met him.” He bit out. 

Pansy only laughed. “Yes, I see why you'd think that, Draco darling. Saving you from doing horrible things you didn’t even want to do, getting you out of prison, and sitting with you while you were ill. Bringing your favorite book. Going to his muggle-born friends for help when you’ve been nothing but awful I imagine?” 

She turned back to Justin then, trying to figure out exactly what her friend was in for. 

Draco didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. That girl should have been infuriating, but he hadn’t been this happy to see her in his life. He listened to her chatter animatedly, pulling out a bit of parchment and reading off a list of questions for his healer to answer. He was still more out of it that he wanted to admit, so he didn’t manage to catch much of it, especially when a group of mediwitches came in to take blood and perform more tests. 

The gist of what he’d gathered was that his blood wasn’t behaving properly, causing him to feel horrid and bleed easily. His magical signature was also weaker than it should be. The disease was overpowering and snuffing out his magic. There was proof for all of that. He’d seen the tests himself. If Finch was right about that, could he have been right about the other thing too?

Did he really have a Muggle disease eating away at his magic and destroying his body? Even being a pureblood? His thoughts were cut short by the approach of his mediwizard. 

“Alright, Mr. Malfoy. We’re not sure how the muggle medications might interact with the charms and potions we’ve been using to help with the symptoms you’ve been having. Most of them will need to be stopped. However, you’ll have to keep taking doses of the potion we’ve been using to keep your magic from being overpowered... if you wish to keep it. But it might change how the treatment works. Do you understand?” Finch said to him, speaking in a way that would have felt insulting if his head hadn’t felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool.

Draco’s stomach rose to his throat and he had to fight the urge to vomit. This was really happening? He could really die? Or lose his magic for good? He didn't understand. He was a pureblood. He didn’t understand.

“Those are my choices? There’s nothing else?” His voice came out strained and he paused to take a breath. 

“Do you... know how this happened? A curse or something? Pureblood wizards aren’t supposed to have these problems. I’m not supposed to have this problem.” He said, sounding harsher than he meant.

From the door came an annoyingly familiar voice. “I think I can answer that, unless you were...” Hermione trailed off, gesturing to Finch-Fletchley from where she stood against the door jamb. Behind her, Harry was carefully not meeting Draco’s eyes. 

“Hermione. Lovely to see you! And Harry. I told you he’d be back, Draco.” Pansy called to them. 

Harry gave her a hesitant wave and Draco tossed a basin, thankfully empty, in her direction. 

“N-no, you can...” The wizard motioned for her to approach. “If that’s alright with you, Mr. Malfoy?” Hermione met his gaze and held it. He had to admit, she was probably the most intelligent witch he’d ever met. 

“If you must, Granger. Go ahead.” He pushed himself up in the bed, and Pansy sat at the foot so that Hermione could take the chair. 

“Well, according to this, it is possible for a pureblood witch or wizard to develop various forms of cancer as well as other muggle conditions if their magic is suppressed for prolonged periods. Such as the time you spent in Azkaban. Some conditions reverse once your magic is back, but cancer in particular tends to mutate, attacking your magical core over time.” She said leaning toward him with a rather large book. 

Draco scanned the page, the script echoing what she had said. This was it then. He’d do the stupid treatment and be rid of yet another reminder of his past sins. Turning to Healer Finch, his voice was steady and clear.

“Well, when are we doing this?” Then to Harry. “You can’t be here.”

Harry stiffened and headed for the door. “I didn’t want to be here anyway, Malfoy.” 

And like that, he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

“Harry, come on. Enough with this childish nonsense. I don’t know what’s been going on with the two of you, but its obvious that you care. And that that man needs you. You’ve got to go.” Hermione waved an arm toward the fireplace, meaning for them to floo over to the hospital. 

“Why is that again? You heard him, ‘Mione. He doesn’t WANT me there. He doesn’t need my help, and I’m done giving it. I’m so sick of always having to be there for everyone, having to be the one to save people. He doesn’t deserve it. I never asked for this, Hermione.” Harry stood abruptly and begun pacing, running both hands through his messy dark hair. 

“And you think he did ask for this? What, because his father’s a deatheater that was murdered in prison? Because he was a terrified kid that let himself get swept away by his father’s influence? I hated him too, but Harry, don’t you think he’s paid his price? You said it yourself at his trial.” Her hand came down hard on the desk in front of her as she stood abruptly. 

“He’s asking for you, Harry! They can’t sedate him because of the way the medication is reacting to magic right now. It’s like cruciatus without a break and he’s ASKING for you! If you don’t go, Harry, I don’t think- would you really just leave him to suffer?” Hermione was in front of him now, eyes shining with tears and face twisted in an almost-snarl. 

Harry huffed and let his shoulders slump. All the fight he had left was gone with that breath. If Hermione was fighting this hard for the git, was this hurt by his reluctance, it must be important. Wordlessly he stepped up to the fireplace and took hold of a handful of floo powder. 

“St. Mungo’s.” He said, throwing the powder down one second and stepping out of a fireplace in someone’s office the next. It didn’t take long to find Draco’s room. He’d memorized the way, walking the halls for the past week, hoping to her something without having to go in.

Draco was curled on his side facing the door, face streaked with blood and tear tracks, scrunched in a clear show of agony. He was the palest Harry had ever seen, and was trembling violently. His lips were moving slightly, but Harry couldn’t make out anything he might be saying.

A mediwitch was casting cleaning charms and another was bringing in a fresh set of blankets. Pansy was rinsing a rag in a basin by the bed. When she looked up, he was met with an unexpectedly warm smile. “Good. Thank Merlin, you’re here.” 

Her smile faded to something darker he hadn’t seen from her before. “He just started to settle, don’t fight with him right now, Potter. He was asking for you, you know. Do better.” 

She spread a couple warm blankets over the blond man, tucking them under the now clean basin he was clutching and pressed the cool cloth against his neck. She bent down, speaking softly near his cheek. 

“I’m going for a bit, Draco dear. Harry’s here now.” She gave his cheek a tender kiss before disappearing somewhere.

Harry stepped up and tentatively put a hand on the man’s, squeezing gently. Grey eyes opened slowly and Harry felt a lump in his throat as the man struggled to focus on Harry through his pain.

”Hey.” Harry swallowed hard, chest suddenly feeling tight at the desperate look Draco gave him, hand turning in his and squeezing. 

His other hand slid up from bony shoulder to sharp jaw when Draco’s eyes suddenly welled with tears. He stroked the man’s cheek, voice going even softer. 

“Shh, you’re alright, mate. You’re gonna be okay. Draco, you’re having a severe reaction. Something with the muggle medicine and the potion for your magic. It's not supposed to be like this. They're stopping the medication now and switching it tomorrow, if you’re better.” Draco let out a ragged sob, face suddenly crumbling back into one of anguish.

He’d held out for so long and Harry felt himself wanting to shield him from the pain, from the anxiety and humiliation. Harry knew that the man was embarrassed to be seen this way. He shifted to sitting on the edge of the bed and Draco reached for him, burying his face in Harry’s chest. 

Draco sobbed hard for a while, but it didn't take long for the tears to slow to sniffles and then for his breathing to even out. The meds, if they’d given him any, must have finally started working and Draco had fallen into a much needed sleep. Against his chest. He had to have been given something, right? It couldn’t have just been that Harry was there. Draco didn’t even like him.

Whatever the reason, they were here now. And it seemed like they’d be here for a while. So Harry settled himself more comfortably, enlarging the bed a bit so that they could both rest, Harry curled protectively around the man.

Though he felt ashamed admitting it, Harry couldn't remember a time that he had slept as well as he had that night with Draco clinging to him.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco knew he wouldn't have agreed to this if anyone had told him how agonizing it was going to be. He would have found another way on his own. Probably a potion or something. Talk to Snape’s portrait. Or just let himself die and be done with it. The world wouldn't be any worse off.

He'd had his first chemo treatment less than an hour ago and already he was sure he was dying. He couldn't stop his stomach churning and his head swimming. His muscles contracted in violent cramps. His body had begun to shake and he was covered in a cold sweat. They'd injected him with something and given a potion for nausea, but it didn't seem to be helping and they couldn’t give him anything else. 

The worst part wasn't how sick he was, but that everyone was there. Pansy was wiping down his forehead with a cool cloth. Hermione was trying to distract him, reading from his favorite book about potions theory. He knew he should be grateful, but right now he was just embarrassed and irritated. 

They kept offering to get Harry, since he seemed to have helped before. Pansy was driving him nuts. Draco didn't want anyone to see him this way, but he especially didn't want Harry bleeding Potter seeing him puke all over himself for the third time in 10 minutes.

When the searing pain started on his skin like fiendfyre, he started to lose track of himself, falling in and out of consciousness. He caught a few words between Hermione and the healers, enough to know this was a severe reaction and not how the treatment was supposed to go. 

So when Harry had come to the bedside shortly after, Draco expected comfort and false cheerfulness. Instead, the man came up to the edge of the bed and placed a hand on top of Draco’s, squeezing lightly.

”Hey.” Harry said when he was able to force his face to untwist and his eyes to open. His voice was kind, but not soft and sickly sweet like most people.

“Shh, you’re alright, mate. You’re gonna be okay. Draco, you’re having a severe reaction. Something with the muggle medicine and the potion for your magic. It's not supposed to be like this. They're stopping the medication now and switching it tomorrow, if you’re better.” He could hear the emotion in Harry’s voice and his hand turned in his, squeezing tightly. 

It wasn't supposed to be this way? He wasn't supposed to be in this much pain? Draco broke down then, shame at showing this much emotion only fueling more tears. Harry adjusted himself, sitting on the bed and pulling Draco closer when he reached out to him. He wasn’t sure how long he cried like that, too embarrassed to look up when the emotions began to pass. 

Harry was warm and comforting under him, and his muscles began to relax against the man. The pain was still there, but exhaustion weighed heavily on him and he let himself drift. The last thing Draco remembered was Harry laying back a bit on the bed and curling an arm around him protectively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s it for this first installment. I thought about adding more, but leaving Draco cradled in Harry’s arms, letting himself sink into the comfort he had been so unwilling to accept before seemed like the right place to leave it. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who’s read this. I know it has been a long wait, but I appreciate you sticking with me more than you could know. Keep an eye out for the sequel!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I didn’t follow the prompt exactly, but I did my best.


End file.
